


Route 666 (Wincest-Style)

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, F/M, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-05
Updated: 2006-08-04
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:46:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8701612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Someone had to Wincest-wank that episode.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title: Route 666 (Wincest-Style)  
Author: merepersiflage  
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean (and a bit of that Dean/Cassie het shoehorned into my Wincesty world)  
Rating: 18+  
Category: slash  
Word Count: 7800 (and more than 4000 of them pure smut)  
Spoilers: Heavy on Route 666, the first part only makes sense if you’ve seen the episode, touches on Asylum, Faith, Scarecrow  
Summary: Someone had to Wincest-wank that episode.  
Notes/Warnings: Incest, smut, graphic sex, language,   
Disclaimer: The boys belong to others, I intend no harm and will make no profit-- and no way would I claim any of the writing from that episode.  
  
  
  
Part I  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Sam knew that gravel-rubbed-velvet tone in Dean’s voice. Knew what it meant. Had heard that same voice gasp his name over and over. And now the reason that it was in his voice had nothing to do with him. Fuck it. There was still a job to do.   
  
There’s been another death.” He tried to keep his tone as flat as possible.  
*  
Sam squinted through the mist and saw his brother swaggering up to the crime scene. Of course, he had everything to swagger about, the jackass. He hadn’t been awake all night alternately worrying about killer trucks and trying to convince himself that it was possible Dean and Cassie had just been talking all night.   
  
“He’s with me,” he told the cop, irony bitter on his tongue. Yeah, for how long? he asked himself.   
  
As his brother approached, Sam forced an uncaring smirk on his face. He wasn’t going to give Dean a chance to say he was being a girl about things. “So, where were you last night?” As if I didn’t know.   
  
Dean’s face twisted in a grimace.   
  
Was that supposed to be some kind of apology?  
  
“You didn’t make it back to the hotel.”   
  
“Well—”  
  
“I’m guessing you guys worked things out.” Sam kept the smirk plastered on his lips, willing his heart to stop pounding. And if you did work things out—are you going to stay with her?   
  
“We’ll still be working things out when we’re ninety.”  
  
How the hell was he supposed to take that?   
  
“So what happened?” Dean asked.   
  
Sam bit back the you’re asking me? that sprang to his lips. So now they were just supposed to talk about the case like nothing happened? Fine.   
  
Sam gave Dean the grisly outline, and they headed back toward the Impala.   
  
Dean opened his door; Sam just stared as his.   
  
“You coming?”   
  
The casual flirtation in his voice pushed Sam right over the edge. “You could have called, you know. Killer truck. Dead guys. Missing brother.”  
  
“Black dead guys.” Dean’s hands clenched around the door frame. Sam tried very hard not to think about what they had been grabbing last night.   
  
“Until now.” Sam jerked his thumb back toward the crime scene.   
  
“Well, I didn’t know that.”  
  
“You didn’t call.”  
  
“What are you now, Grandma?”  
  
“What-the-fuck-ever, Dean.” Sam yanked open his door and threw himself onto the seat.   
  
Dean sighed and eased in next to him. He reached out a hand, and Sam glared at him until he dropped it. “It wasn’t like that, Sammy.”  
  
“Don’t. And really? What the fuck was it like then, Dean?”  
*  
She’d kissed him and backed off. It had been almost a month. Sammy had been treating him like spun glass since the heart attack. And despite Dean’s assurances, despite the doctor’s assurances, Sam was acting like one good blow job was going to finish him off. And then Cassie had kissed him and all that denied need was churning in his gut and he had to know, could he, would he still do this—or was it—and he kissed her back and all those old feelings came rushing through his blood, impossible to ignore.   
  
With Cassie there was no little voice at the back of his mind reminding him this is your baby brother, we shouldn’t. . . It was just soft, warm woman, familiar and easy, until the moment when his dick slid home between her thighs and everything was wrong again. It was the wrong heat, the wrong wet, the wrong smell. It wasn’t Sammy. It wasn’t right. They’d never made promises to each other, and Sam’d had Jess. Now that he and Sam’d found each other again . . .   
  
But things had gone a little far to say sorry, my mistake, and then that tight heat clenched around his dick and there was nothing but the rhythm of fucking.   
  
What the fuck was it like, Dean? He really didn’t have an answer. And they had a job to do. “It was what it was, Sam.” And he couldn’t take it back now.   
  
“That’s just great, thanks.”  
  
Dean started the car and leaned forward to brush his fingers against the tape sitting in the cassette deck, but he didn’t push it in. He wanted the music, wanted it at brain-scrambling volume to drown out the thoughts racing around in his head, but he figured Sam might finally ask him something he could answer. Maybe he could ask Sam something. Like what the hell that smirk was for? Sure he was pissed, but pissed about what? It wasn’t like--   
  
“You know, you’re the one who sent me to her.”  
  
“Because I thought you needed to work some things out.”  
  
“Well, we did.”  
  
“Yeah, I kind of figured that out, what with the complete lack of you in the hotel room last night.”   
  
“Fuck, Sam, what do you want me to say?”  
  
Sam just watched him from under those too-long bangs, and Dean punched in the tape.   
*  
“Occasionally, I miss boring.” I miss the way things used to be.  
  
“All right, this killer truck. . . .”  
  
“And I miss conversations that didn’t start with ‘this killer truck.’” Can you hear what I’m trying to say here, Dean?   
  
“Well, this Cyrus guy,” Dean amended.   
  
Apparently not. Dean just wanted to talk about business. Like he ever really thought Dean would talk about what was actually going on. Would he ever? Like maybe when he bought Sam a bus ticket back to California so he could stay in Missouri with Cassie? Like when they left Cassie behind and Dean got horny enough to crawl back into his bed?   
  
They’d do the job. Sam would concentrate on that. He ought to know what came from mixing personal feelings with the job, but damnit, so should Dean.   
  
Great, a long night of dredging ahead and here came Cassie down to wish them well. Sam wished he could hate her, but she was too nice, too ready to call his brother on his shit for that. And how could she know that watching her with Dean tore holes in Sam’s guts? Even Dean didn’t seem to notice, so why should Cassie?   
  
“Don’t go getting all authoritative on me. I hate it.”   
  
Sam looked up, waiting for a snarky Dean comeback.   
  
“Don’t leave the house, please.”   
  
Oh for fuck’s sake. The only time Dean had used that conciliatory a tone with him was when he’d asked him to lower the shot gun Sam had pointed at his chest.   
  
And now they were kissing. And kissing. Sam couldn’t watch this anymore. They had work to do. He cleared his throat.   
  
Dean held up a finger in a wait-a-minute pose. Sam wanted to break it off. How much of this shit did Dean expect him to take?  
  
“You coming or what?” Dean slipped in the car while Sam was still trying to plaster a smile back on his face for Cassie.   
  
He joined his brother in the car. “Say that again and I am so kicking your ass.”  
*  
“Now I know what she sees in you.” Sam quickly changed his expression to a smile as his brother swung round to look at him.   
  
“C’mon, man, you can admit it. You’re still in love with her.” Jesus, Dean, just let me know where I stand.  
  
“Ah, can we focus, please?”   
  
Where the fuck was your focus when you were kissing her three hours ago, jackass? Just tell me what’s going on and stop jerking me around. But that really wouldn’t have been the right time to say it, what with his hands full of gasoline and Dean holding a lighter, so he just hefted the can and walked to the truck.   
*  
“Well, ‘it honestly didn’t occur to me.’ I’m going to kill him.”   
  
Dean took a deep breath. It didn’t help, so he took another. Then he hit redial. “What the fuck did you mean by that?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Letting me play chicken with a killer truck while you work out some geekboy theory?”  
  
“Dean, I—”  
  
“Is it about Cassie?” Damn, it was easier to ask that over the phone, when he didn’t have to look Sammy in the eye.  
  
“NO, you can’t think I—”  
  
“All right.” Sam’s denial had the ring of truth, even over the phone. “So I thought we’d worked out all these you’re-not-the-boss-of-me issues. You know, when you shot me?”  
  
“Jesus, Dean, how can you say that when you know what I went through to keep you alive.”  
“What I went through. And you’ve been treating me like something breakable ever since. When was the last time you let me take point on a scene?”  
  
“Tonight. You opened the truck door.” Sam sounded confused. Maybe he really had no idea how Dean had felt with all the coddling lately. “What’s that about?”  
  
“Nothin’, Sam. So you never considered—”  
  
“It was the best I could come up with to save your ass.”  
  
“Huh.”  
  
“You know, I’m not the one who took off yelling for me to try to set a dripping hunk of metal on fire.”   
  
His panties were in a knot now. Dean could picture him blowing the hair out of his eyes through pursed lips as he huffed.  
  
“Yeah, there is that. Okay, Sammy.” Dean snapped his phone off before he could hear Sam protest the nickname.   
  
If it wasn’t jealousy, and it wasn’t anger, what the fuck was up with him?  
  
Dean reciprocated Cassie’s goodbye kiss as politely as he could, but they both knew there was nothing there, and he only protested for form’s sake. Sam’s smile was inscrutable as they drove out of town. He gave it three miles past the city limits before Sam gave up on the silent treatment and let him have it.   
  
“I like her.”  
  
Dean watched the mud roll by out the window. He’d expected a big hissy fit.   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“You meet someone like her . . . it ever make you wonder if it’s worth it? Putting everything else on hold? Doing what we do?”  
  
Dean looked over at Sam. I don’t want to do anything else but what we do, bro. Everything we do. No one could ever mean more to me than you, and if you’d pull over as soon as we get near some trees I’ll show you just how much I love doing everything we do. He put it all in that look and sent it right at Sam.   
  
But Sam was still in his little snit and barely met his gaze.   
  
Dean slipped on his shades. “Wake me up when it’s my turn to drive.” He’d give Sam another fifteen miles before he broke, less if he slipped some of his whiny college rock into the tape deck.   
 


	2. Chapter 2

Part II  
  
And he woke in confusion to see the sun setting behind the battered strip of rooms of the Deluxe Cottage Motel in who-the-fuck-knew where. Sam’s hand was on the keys and he knew that sudden silence of the engine was what had woken him. He’d underestimated both his exhaustion and Sammy’s capacity for brooding today.   
  
“So, we got money for a room or are we sleeping in the car?”  
  
Whatever was going to happen, Dean wanted a room. If they were going to scream at each other or screw each other, he’d much rather do it in a room. The Impala was sensitive to that sort of shit—and it was a bitch to get come off the upholstery. He grabbed the door handle and peeled off his shades. “Room,” he grated out, his voice as exhausted as the rest of him.   
  
Sam slipped out the other door. “I’ll see if I can find something to eat around here.” His long form was disappearing into the twilight before Dean could even get the door open.   
  
“Fuck.” That boy could pout with the best of’em. Apparently, driving all day had not helped Sam get his shit together, though it always worked for Dean. Walking didn’t help the boy either, because when Sam came back with a convenience store bag—oh, two hours later—he was still silent and glowery.   
  
Sam dumped the stuff out on the little table and sat on the bed nearest the door. The one Dean had loaded up with their gear in what he thought was a really obvious way. Sam shoved a duffel off onto the floor—Dean’s, of course—and planted his bony ass there like that fucking statue whatcha call it: The Thinker. Yep, give that guy a mop of just-been-fucked hair and drop-dead sexy eyelashes, and he was a ringer for Sammy.   
  
Dean crossed to the table and his eyes lit up at the sight of a familiar package. Sam couldn’t be completely pissed at him. He tore the plastic open. “Tasty Kakes?” He moaned around a mouthful of Butterscotch Krimpet. “Are we in Pennsylvania already?”  
  
“West Virginia.”   
  
And Sam was at least answering questions. He shot him a look from eyes half closed in sugary delight. He was still doing the statue thing, but now both fists were under his dimpled chin.   
  
“The desk clerk guy give you the look when you asked for the room number?”   
  
Sam didn’t bite.  
  
“You know, the yeah, right, your brother look?”   
  
“Well, I couldn’t very well give him your name, could I? I didn’t know what name you used to check in.”   
  
“’Cause you hauled ass the second the tires stopped spinning.”   
  
“I’m taking a shower.” Sam pushed off the bed and stalked toward the bathroom. He didn’t even so much as shrug off his overshirt in the room.   
  
“Yeah, well, the water pressure sucks.”  
  
The door did not slam shut behind him. He’d rather it did. At least that would be something like talking. He flipped back through the two and a half channels on the T.V., wishing he hadn’t switched out his walkman batteries to the EMF reader. The boredom was getting to him. Now that he had slept all day, he was wide awake, and brooding Sammy eventually was going to give him a headache. Chalk another thing up to the Psychic Wonder’s ESP. Fuck it. They were going to do this now.   
  
He stomped to the bathroom door. “Sammy?” he bellowed in a tone that had made Sam jump until he was fourteen.   
  
“Jesus. Can’t I shower in peace?”  
  
“Not if you’re wasting a good one in there.”   
  
“God, grow up, Dean.”  
  
“I’m not the one pouting, Sammy boy. Are you coming out to tell me what’s going on or—”  
  
The water shut off instantly. Dean controlled a bark of laughter. He’d started to wonder if Sam’s smirks and weirdness around Cassie, his whole quick hugs and no fucks all month had been a way of backing off from this whole thing they had going. If Sam didn’t want to do that anymore, he’d get over it and they’d still be brothers. But if Sam was that desperate to keep him out of the bathroom, to keep him away from his long naked gorgeousness, he definitely had some room to work.   
  
He picked up Sam’s duffel and threw it at the door. “Clothes, ya big baby.”  
  
“Fuck you, Dean.”  
  
You wish, Sammy. But I know just how this is going to end, and it’s going to be your legs around my waist as I fuck you. And it’ll be just what you need. Just what you beg for.  
  
The door opened a fraction and San’s hand shot out to grab the duffel. Dean could have asked what his sudden attack of modesty was all about, but he already knew the answer and he had bigger fish to fry.   
  
Sam stepped out in sweatpants and his ever-present hoody. Dean was surprised he hadn’t gone for socks and shoes.   
  
“So what do you want?” Sam glared down at him. The boy never got tired of gloating over those four inches he had on him. Dean slouched against the wall, refusing his part in the pissing contest for the moment.   
  
“I want to know what the fuck is wrong with you.” Dean was pleased at how even his tone was.   
  
“With me?” Sam, on the other hand, hadn’t sounded this pissed since he’d waved a pistol at him.   
  
“Yep.”  
  
“You’re asking what’s wrong with me?” Now disbelief hollowed his tone making him just sweet, lost Sammy again, and Dean had to force himself to stay in his nonchalant lean against the wall. Any more of those puppy eyes, and he’d be over there apologizing to the little prick for God knew what.   
  
Sam was only revving up. His voice cracked higher with each accusation.   
  
“You fuck some girl—”  
  
“Who you sent me to—”  
  
“Act like nothing happened—”  
  
“’Cause you did—”  
  
“Run off so some pissed off spirit can chase you—”  
  
“Like I do most days that end in y—”  
  
“And then you accuse me of trying to kill you. Again.”  
  
“Well, yeah.”  
  
“And you think there’s something wrong with ME?”  
  
“Looks like.”  
  
“Well, look again, Dean.”  
  
“I’m lookin’ pretty hard, Sam.” Dean had come out of his slouch. “After I spent the night with Cassie—”  
  
Sam made a choking sound and Dean guessed he was ticked at his choice of euphemism but kept on.   
  
“After that, you smirked at me like a kid brother jacked that his big bro had scored one for the team.” Dean stepped closer, keeping his brother’s eyes fixed in his gaze. “You sure as hell didn’t act like someone who wished my dick had been in him instead.”  
  
Sam flinched, and Dean bet he was wishing he’d stuck to euphemisms.   
  
“All right. I was jealous. Did you want me to be jealous?”  
  
“I wanted you to be honest.”  
  
“Honest, yeah, right.”  
  
“Yeah. Why didn’t you say anything to me?”  
  
“Why didn’t you? How the hell was I supposed to know you weren’t about to settle down with the love of you life?”  
  
Dean crossed the last few feet until he stood as close as he could get without having to tip his head back to meet Sam’s eyes, close enough to see the water drip from Sam’s wet hair to fall on his cheeks like tears.   
  
“I didn’t want to ruin that for you.” Sam swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.  
  
“Like I ruined it for you.”  
  
“No! I just—I didn’t know. I didn’t know if you were going to leave me and I couldn’t let myself—”  
  
Dean took the last step that brought him chest to chest with his brother. Sam backed away, and Dean followed him until Sam ran out of room, his back pinned to the bathroom door.   
  
“Let’s get a few things straight. You’re the one who left me, Sam. Twice.”  
  
Sam swallowed again, harder than before.   
  
“It’s not a really nice feeling is it, Sam?”  
  
“No.” Sam’s head dropped back against the wall, a pose of surrender Dean knew and loved. He flung his head back like that when Dean finally wrapped his lips around the head of his dick, his eyes fluttered closed like that when the tight muscles gave and he slid that last inch into Sam and made them as close as they could be.   
  
All Dean’s blood rushed south at the sight. He wasn’t sure he could outlast Sammy’s stubbornness if he kept looking so fuckable.   
  
“No,” Sam said again, rolling his head just under the top of the door frame, lashes still shuttering his eyes. More water from his sopping hair showered them both. A big fat drop rolled down Sam’s sharply carved cheekbone and Dean clenched his hands into fists to keep from licking it off. He licked his own lips instead, tasting the drop that fell there, tasting cheap shampoo, Sammy’s hair, a little butterscotch frosting.   
  
His jeans were getting damned tight.   
  
“But I’m still here, Sam. This is where I want to be. I told you all that in the car.”  
  
“You didn’t say anything.” Sam’s eyes shot open.  
  
“I did.”   
  
And Dean could tell the moment Sam read it, read all of Dean’s soul that he put in his eyes for his brother to find. Sam’s body relaxed, lips softening with a half smile, eyes gone wide with understanding.   
  
“Yeah, real perceptive psychic boy.”  
  
Dean stepped away from him then, but Sam’s arms shot out to grip his shoulders, long fingers digging down over his shoulder blades. Dean waited. There was no telling Sam anything. You had to let him work it out for himself before he could believe it.  
  
After what felt like forever, Sam’s lips crashed down on his.  
 


	3. Chapter 3

Part III  
  
Sam devoured his brother’s mouth, sliding past those soft full lips to chase his tongue around the steamy cavern of his mouth. Dean tasted like butterscotch, like soap, like Dean, a taste familiar as coffee and as much of a catalyst to his system. Blood pounded down, electrifying nerves and hardening his dick. He inhaled Dean’s breath, pulled his brother’s tongue into his mouth, and sucked.   
  
All Dean’s vibrating tension fell in on Sam as he collapsed against him with a moan. His hands fastened onto Sam’s ribs, gripping hard enough to bruise. Sam didn’t care; it was Dean grabbing him, marking him, totally here with him, the way only Dean ever was.   
  
Dean ground his hips into his. Sam broke their kiss so Dean could hear how sweetly painful that pressure was as the layers of clothing strangled his erection. Sam traced the tendon on the side of Dean’s neck with his tongue while he let his hands drift down his back until he could cup his brother’s ass, lifting him to find just the right fit to make Dean jerk and pant against him. His teeth sank into Dean’s flesh at the spot where his neck met his shoulder, and he marked him hard until he could feel him flinch away.   
  
“Bed. Now. Or we do it here.” Dean grated out, and that rough syrupy voice was all for Sam now.  
  
“Works for me.” Sam dropped to his knees in the cramped space between the door and his brother’s legs, and yanked the button open at the top of his jeans.   
  
“Shit, Sam be careful—”   
  
But Sam had the zipper down and the jeans and boxers off his hips before Dean could finish his protest. Dean’s dick curved up into his stomach and Sam took a moment just to look. He’d wondered if he’d ever get this chance again, to be this close to him, to taste him, to hold his pleasure in the back of his throat and tease it out until Dean screamed his name. He licked the tiny hairs around his navel, letting his breath fall heavy on the head of Dean’s dick. That light fuzz was just long enough to catch in his teeth for a gentle tug Sam knew was guaranteed to make Dean groan.   
  
He did just that, and his legs dropped farther apart, his jeans sliding down below his knees. Sam ignored the blatant invitation of his jutting dick and ducked under to tongue Dean’s balls. He loved the feel of them in his mouth and knew they’d be too sensitive to play with when he started seriously sucking Dean. The sacs rolled on his tongue, and his nose was buried in the heart of Dean’s scent. He sighed and hummed in contentment. Dean began to make a keening sound and Sam thought the desperate notes made familiar melody. He hummed again, a deliberate vibration that made Dean break off mid-note with a squawk.   
  
Sam pulled back enough to speak. “Were you singing Judas Priest?”  
  
Dean was enunciating his words carefully, as if he were drunk. “I was trying to distract myself enough to keep from fucking your face.   
  
Sam grinned. “Go for it.”  
  
“Don’t tempt me, buddy boy.”  
  
God, how he loved making Dean’s voice break like that. His own dick leaped and leaked. He pressed a hand against his balls to ease himself back from the edge.   
  
He breathed in Dean’s scent, so warm, so close and lapped at those shiny little hairs leading away from Dean’s navel.   
  
“Fuck, Sammy, don’t tease me.”  
  
“Why not? It’s fun.”  
  
“I’m sorry, all right?”  
  
Sam tugged a little harder on one of those hairs with his teeth and then shifted to bury his nose in Dean’s pubes. His hand snaked around Dean’s thighs, and he lifted his head to ask, “Sorry for what?”  
  
“For anything. For everything. For fucking Cassie. For not seeing that it pissed you off. For doubting you. For being older. For being better looking. Whatever you want. Please, Sammy, please suck my dick.”  
  
Sam relented a little, took that hot, hard head in his mouth and used his tongue to trace the slit. The sounds from Dean’s mouth made his heart slam against his ribs, and his dick jumped again. Dean was stronger. Dean was a better hunter, a better shooter, a better son, always first. But when Sam had him in his mouth, Dean was his to own.   
  
He eased down, molding his lips over his teeth. The fit was perfect, just enough of a stretch to make him relax his jaw and soften his lips. His tongue knew every groove, every vein. Once he started bobbing, it was as basic as breathing, as perfect as a clean stroke of a knife. He should have been able to think of nothing but how rich Dean tasted, how that brutal heat filled his mouth, but Sam had never been able to turn his mind completely off. He didn’t want to think it but there it was. Had she done this for him? Could she have known just how to flick the head so that salty shot of precome splashed free? And did Dean ever wonder what it had been like for Sam and Jess?  
  
Sam brought his free hand up to grip Dean’s root and rocked back so he could watch his brother’s face as he lapped the precome from his slit. Dean must have felt his gaze on him, because those moss green eyes popped open and stared down into his with heartbreaking intensity.   
  
“There’s just you and me, Sam. And I don’t want to be anywhere else, with anyone else.”  
  
Sometimes he could swear his brother could read his mind. He held his gaze a moment more. God, he’d almost lost him twice in the last month. Dean, the very rock his life had been built on had almost been stripped away. He might never have had this again. The heat, the power, the very force of nature that was Dean filling him like lightning in a bottle.   
  
“Sammy.” And he didn’t mind the nickname when Dean said it like that. His brother’s hands came up to caress the back of his neck, sending icy water dripping down his spine, and Sam was sure he was hot enough to turn it to steam.   
  
“Just you an’ me, Sammy. All I ever want.” Dean’s words were a whisper choked in his throat, but Sam could hear every one. He was going to suck him until those words were true. Suck him until there was no trace of her left between them, until there was nothing left but them.  
  
He went down as hard and fast as he could until Dean was jammed against the back of his throat. He brought the hand behind Dean down lower, fingers sliding between Dean’s ass cheeks, skimming the sensitive ring before finally pressing on the perineum.   
  
“Don’t.”   
  
But Sam didn’t know if it the plea was for him or for Dean because that’s when Dean lost it. One hand slammed against the door, the other wrapped around the back of Sam’s head, offering Sam a layer of protection against the door as Dean fucked his face.   
  
There was nothing to do but hold on, the two fingers still wrapped around Dean’s root kept him from going down far enough to gag him, and his arm around Dean’s hips kept him upright.   
  
He used his tongue much as the thrusts would allow. Knowing he’d driven Dean this far was a charge to his nerves, a power pounding through his body until his own erection was a knife edge of need pressing into his stomach, but he couldn’t free a hand to help himself. He had what he needed for now. His brother crying out and pleading above him, the resented nickname now flowing like poetry from his mouth.   
  
“Ah, Sammy, fuck. Sammy, please, oh please, Sammy, fuck.”   
  
And he was gone, bursting inside Sam’s mouth salt, smoke, semen, musk, Dean. Sam drank it down, his tongue gently flicking the tip as the last shudders drained him.   
  
“Fuck.”   
  
Sam could hear Dean’s breath roaring in his lungs like he’d just done two laps around the cemetery with a ghoul on his heels. He took advantage of the cushion of Dean’s hand as he rested his head against the door, sliding off while planting one last kiss on the plummy head. He let his fingers work the last little shivers out of Dean, gently tugging and whispering under his balls.  
  
When Dean squeezed the back of his head in warning, he let his hand fall away. The fingers at his neck instantly became caressing, and Sam was painfully aware of his own raging hard-on.  
  
His brother read his mind again. “As soon as I get my breath back –fuck, Sam,” another long shuddering breath. “But, ahh.” Dean gasped again. “But not on this filthy floor. I paid for that bed, and we’re gonna use it.”  
  
Dean kicked off his jeans and underwear and peeled off his shirt as he staggered to the bed. He barely yanked aside the stained cover before collapsing on the sheets. “And get those damn clothes off.”  
  
Sam followed more slowly. He tugged his hoody over his head, feeling his brother’s eyes on him. He didn’t think he could get any harder, but when he looked over and saw the heat in Dean’s eyes, he forgot how to breathe.   
  
He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of the sweats, and eased them over his swollen dick. As they slip down he stepped out of them, and bent to pick them up.   
  
“Jesus, Sam, you practicing to be a pole dancer? ’Cause God knows we could use the money, and you’d be . . .” Dean’s voice seemed to get caught in his throat as Sam prowled over to him.   
  
“On second thought,” Dean murmured, “I’d be in jail for cracking too many heads. I think this pleasure should be all mine.” He scooted over to make room for Sam, and then they were wrapped in a familiar tangle, a perfect press of skin, heat, bone and muscle.   
  
“Where the hell have you been, bro?” Dean muttered into Sam’s neck as his hand traced his hip.  
  
“Right here,” Sam answered, but he knew it was a lie. He hadn’t been here at all. Ever since Dean’s heart attack, he’d been agonizing over the past, freaking out about the future, forgetting that now was all they ever really had.   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
Dean’s dismissive grunt rumbled against his chest, ticked beneath his ear. It was always like that with Dean. He was never just a sound or a sight, he came at all your senses at once, you could feel his voice, hear him looking at you.   
  
“So, if you’ve been here, maybe you can tell me why’ve you’ve been cutting me off all month. I was starting to think you didn’t want to do this anymore.   
  
Sam tried to find a way to explain that wouldn’t sound as stupid as those worries now felt. It wasn’t easy to find the words, especially when Dean was running his fingers from the crack of his ass to the tip of his spine.   
  
“Well, first, after you were hurt, I just—”  
  
“We went all through that—clean bill of health. I even asked the doc if I could uh resume normal activities. She gave me that yeah, right he’s your brother look, too.”   
  
Sam could feel Dean’s smirk against his neck. “I don’t remember that.”   
  
“You were out paying the bill. I didn’t want to make you blush.”  
  
Sam punched his brother in the shoulder.   
  
“But I told you she said everything was fine. Told you practically everyday, just before you rolled over and stared at the wall. What the fuck was I supposed to think about that?”  
  
“I—I didn’t stop wanting this,” Sam wriggled down far enough to kiss him softly, a quick press against those exquisite lips, and tried to explain again. This was the really weird part. “But, I was just afraid that . . . well I’d gotten this . . . amazing gift and I didn’t want to . . . God, I don’t know . . . I didn’t want . . . I was afraid that someone, somehow wouldn’t like it and take it back. Take you back.”  
  
Dean kissed him back, the laugh rumbling in his chest barely a vibration against Sam’s lips.   
  
“First of all, buddy, you and I both know there was no heavenly miracle involved in my still being here. And if there was any kind of goodness out there looking after us, it turned its back on us long before we ever started doing this.” He gestured down at their tangled legs before hooking Sam’s calf with his leg and flipping on his back, pinning him to the bed with his hands on his shoulders.   
  
“And last, little brother, you may be good, damn, you may give the best head in the Northern Hemisphere, but nobody’s good enough to create a freakin’ cosmic disturbance with his mouth.”  
  
And Sam had to smile. Because of course, Dean was right.   
  
“Best head, huh?”  
  
“In the Northern Hemisphere, anyway.”  
  
“While I was at Stanford, you and Dad didn’t chase any chupacabras over the equator or anything did you?”   
  
“Jealous again?”  
  
“I think I might be getting over it.”   
  
“I’m hearing a request of some kind coming up here.”  
  
Sam took a deep breath. “Well, I think it would help if you fucked me.”  
  
“Shit.” Dean’s face twisted and Sam felt the soft wet pressure on the inside of his hip begin to harden.   
  
“I mean, if you’re sure you’re up to it.”  
  
“Getting there. Yeah, you just might kill me yet, bro. But what a way to go.”  
 


	4. Chapter 4

Part IV  
  
Dean lowered his head and gently pressed his lips to Sam’s swollen ones.   
  
“Sorry about going so hard there, buddy.”  
  
“And you can feel how much I hated it.” Sam arched his back, pressing his rock hard dick into Dean’s groin.   
  
He kissed him again, running his tongue over that delicious pout. Dean loved kissing Sam from this angle. With the inches Sam had on him, he could never get good enough leverage to control the kiss when they were standing. He dove in to sweep his tongue through Sam’s mouth. When Sam sucked on it, he could feel it all the way down to his balls.   
  
“Maybe next time you won’t tease me like that.”   
  
“What happened to the ‘best head ever’?”   
  
“In the Northern Hemisphere.”   
  
Sam’s head was as swollen as his . . . other head.   
  
“Whatever.” Sam was grinding his hips up against Dean’s.   
  
Dean felt his dick come slowly back to life, a sweet pulse of blood, a tingle in his balls.   
  
“Yeah, well, that was just the afterglow talking.” He tickled Sam’s ear with his breath, making Sam wriggle in a way that was getting him more than ready to fully fill Sam’s request. He tongued down Sam’s neck before lapping at a pebbled brown nipple.   
  
“Fuck, Dean. I’m hard enough to cut glass, here. Not really needing the foreplay.”  
  
Dean reared up on his knees and looked down. “Yep. That’s one impressive boner you got there, dude. You going for some kind of record? Maybe we should bust out the tape measure.”  
  
“Fuck off.” Sam smacked him lightly on the side of the head.   
  
“Oh, I’m workin’ on it.”  
  
He couldn’t admit the foreplay was more for him. Couldn’t admit that just looking at Sam’s long muscled torso, kissing his coppery nipples made him knife hard despite the fact that he’d just been coming his brains out. ’Cause Sammy didn’t need that kind of power over him. He already owned him body and soul. He wasn’t giving him his balls, too.   
  
Sam’s dick was so primed, he had to lift it off his stomach to mouth the head. Sam’s hips flew off the mattress.   
  
“Dee-an.” Any other time it would have been a whine to deserve a head slap, but the husky tone in Sam’s voice made it sweet as a Hetfield guitar riff.   
  
He knew how long Sammy been riding this hard on, but he couldn’t help himself. He circled the head with his tongue, flicked the rim and let his teeth just barely graze the shaft.   
  
“Shit. Dean, please, god, I’m so close. Don’t, please, don’t, I want to come with you in me.”  
  
Dean rocked back again. “You know, for someone who hates taking orders, you’re pretty cocky to give’em.” He patted the object of his pun, and Sam glared at him.   
  
“Now would be a good time to take them, soldier boy.”  
  
“Yes, sir.” Dean pushed off the bed and went for the supplies. Condom from his wallet, that first. He was hoping to fuck Sam into oblivious, nightmare-free sleep, so he didn’t want to bother with clean up. Then the lube—that was in the duffel—where the hell was his—   
  
“Fucking hell, Dean, hurry up.”  
  
“If you hadn’t knocked my duffel under the bed, snit boy . . .” He tugged it free in a cloud of dust and sneezed twice as he dug for the lube.   
  
“Well, you shouldn’t work so hard at pissing me off.”  
  
“Hey, man, I’m not the one pantin’ and grabbin’ at the sheets over there. Be nice, ’cause I’m about ready to roll over and go to sleep.”  
  
Sam propped himself up on his elbows. His eyes swept over Dean’s chest down to his dick, which got even heavier under that long-lashed stare.  
  
“Sleepy, huh?”   
  
How could he sound so sexy when he was being that sarcastic?  
  
“Heh, well, maybe I’ll change my mind.” He dropped a towel on the pillow and the lube next to Sam’s hip to start warming it before jumping back into the bed.   
  
“Maybe, hmm?” Sam looked back at Dean’s already sheathed dick.   
  
“Eighty-twenty, your favor.”   
  
Sam rocked back and brought his knees to his chest. Those legs. Around his waist. Holy shit, they could wrap around twice.   
  
“All right. Hundred percent chance of getting fucked, with a ninety percent chance of coming until we both pass out.”  
  
“Only ninety?”  
  
“Other ten’s up to you. I can’t do everything, you know.”   
  
Sam let his legs fall to the side, knees drawn up. Dean knelt between them and reached for the lube, warming it against his hands before he slicked his thumbs and drizzled it in between Sam’s ass cheeks. Sam shivered.   
  
Dean splayed his hands on Sam’s inner thighs and began working his thumbs in closer and closer to that tight ring of muscle. Just as he brushed it, he took the head of Sam’s dick in his mouth.   
  
“Fuck, Dean, don’t. Please. I need. I want you in me. Dee-an.”  
  
He pulled his lips off. Sammy was sounding a little desperate. He tugged Sam’s balls down gently. “Help any?”  
  
“Fuck no. Do it now.”  
  
Dean worked a thumb into him, and the muscles in Sam’s legs jumped like he’d been hit by a taser. His thumb glided in and out easily, the muscle giving and stretching. Dean slid the other thumb in to work the stretch.   
  
Sammy, the geekboy who could turn even sex into some boring research subject, had looked it up, after a few frustrating attempts to get their bodies to fit the way they needed them to. He claimed it was the most effective way to prep for a painless ass fuck. Dean didn’t know what part of the library had that kind of shit in it, but this sure made Sam’s hips slam up and down on the mattress. He used his thumbs in opposition, and Sam started bucking.   
  
“Now, now, now, now, now!”   
  
“Greedy son of a bitch.” Dean took a moment to enjoy the picture. His pendant was decorating Sam’s blood dark dick, and Sam’s head was flung back, the tendons on his neck standing out in sharp relief. His lashes dropped over his cheeks. Dean might have teased him longer, just for a bit of payback, but Sam opened pleading eyes and he couldn’t deny him any more.   
  
He lubed up his dick so fast it hurt and guided it to Sam’s ass. Hooking his arms under Sam’s knees, he pushed the head in, watching his brother’s face carefully. Sam’s dick was longer than Dean’s and not as thick, but the head was pretty wide and Dean knew exactly how the first few inches of penetration felt, no matter how slick, no matter how ready. There was no way to prepare for that much sensation, for that completely helpless surrender.   
  
Sam’s eyes were screwed shut, but he nodded and Dean eased in another inch, thankful that the mind-blowing blowjob meant he would have enough control to take his time. Sam needed this, and Dean needed it to be perfect for him.   
  
Sam grunted, “Just do it.”   
  
But Dean waited until his brother opened his eyes and then drove all the way home.   
  
He froze there, waiting for it. He knew this moment, when if was almost too much, when you fought the urge to yell stop I can’t and then it all turned sweet. Every cell was full, fucked, burning with how good it felt. It was total possession, each owning the other, close enough to feel each other’s pulse in the most sensitive flesh. He watched for that moment in Sammy’s eyes.   
  
When it came, that look of surrender sent a shock to the tip of Dean’s dick and he had to move or die.   
  
“Yeah,” Sam sighed in agreement, wrapping his legs around Dean’s hips.   
  
Dean pulled out to the tip, biting his lip as his crown caught on Sam’s tight rim. He knew even without the small bump under his tip when he hit Sam’s prostate on the way back in. Sam arched his back and almost screamed loud enough to confirm the desk clerk’s suspicious mind. He withdrew again, this time when the ring pulled at his crown spots danced in front of his eyes.   
  
Every time he clicked against that rim, every stroke down that tight channel, he was falling into Sam, losing himself inside him. He summoned a smirk to his lips. “So, Sammy, you comin’ or what?”  
  
Sam drummed his heels hard against Dean’s ass, sending them both moaning as it drove him deeper.   
  
His words sounded like they were being ripped from his stomach. “Told. You. I’d kick. Your. Ass. For that.”  
  
“I don’t think you’re in any position to talk about doing anything to my ass, dude.”  
  
Sam laughed and it was all right again. Everything was right again. It was his Sammy. His brother. His friend. His lover. What did it matter if he lost himself in him? It was home.   
  
“Please, Dean, god, I’m going to die if you don’t make me come right the hell now.”   
  
“Drama queen.” But Dean closed his eyes and lowered himself on Sam’s chest, his belly rocking against Sam’s dick and thrust faster, deeper, aiming for that bump as best he could. He dropped his head close enough to feel Sam’s breath huff against his lips.   
  
“There. Holy fuck, Dean. There. . .” And his words trailed away into something between a whimper and a wheeze, as if he was trying to hold back.  
  
Dean ground his teeth together. His balls were trying to climb back inside his body. He was hanging on by a thread. C’mon, Sammy.  
  
He should be able do go longer. He’d just come, damnit, but it was Sam and Sam just made him crazy. What the hell. He already had everything else, Sam could have his balls, too.   
  
“Mine.” Sam whispered. His hands squeezed Dean’s shoulders fingers digging in deep, thighs tightened around his hips, ass tight around his dick.   
  
Dean opened his eyes. Sam was watching him. “Greedy bastard.” Dean tried to joke away the look in those eyes.   
  
“Mine.” Sam repeated.   
  
Dean gave in. “Right back at you.”  
  
Sam smiled and rocked into him, his eyes widening. “Fuck, Dean. Go harder.”  
  
The need to come was clawing through his balls. He wasn’t going to make it if Sam kept milking his dick like that. “Sammy,” he warned.   
  
“Harder. Please. Dee-an. Please. Fuck my ass. Please.”   
  
If Sam kept talking dirty to him, there was no way in hell he was going to last. He dove into his brother’s mouth, thrusting with his tongue as he slammed his dick into him.   
  
But that was what Sam needed because his wet heat shot across his belly and Dean let go. The orgasm ripped through him, turned his body inside out, squeezing the breath from his lungs. He came forever, light exploding behind his eyes until he almost thought he’d given himself a stroke. Finally the breath rattled back into his lungs, aftershocks chasing each other up and down his nerves. He fought it for a moment, then collapsed onto Sam’s slippery chest.   
  
“Well, shit.”   
  
“Yeah.” Sam agreed. And they breathed together as their bodies cooled, heartbeats ticking down to something under two hundred.   
  
Dean resented every second it took to tie off the condom and wipe them down, each second when he could be collapsed in a boneless heap on his perfectly sated brother.   
  
“You know, we should take up yoga or something.”  
  
“What the hell, Dean?” Sam’s voice was muffled.   
  
“Yeah, maybe I could find away to suck and fuck at the same time. ’Cause I figure that’s gotta be . . . damn.”   
  
“Three-way.” Sam mumbled into his neck.   
  
“You think? Girl?”   
  
“What-the-fuck-ever, Dean.”  
  
“Listen, you possessive little shit, the next time you don’t want me to sleep with a girl, say something—or at least don’t send me off to her alone with you blessings, okay?”   
  
“’Kay.” Sam’s voice was so sleepy and subdued he sounded twelve again. “But, Dean,” he added, in a voice that could only come from a grown-up Sam, “the make-up sex is awesome.”   
  
“Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll do something else tomorrow to piss you off.”  
 


End file.
